The Truth About Forgetting You
by Prewritesuccession
Summary: Lacey, Fuji's child-hood friend, moves back to Tokyo after five years. She realizes her true feelings for her old friend and is overjoyed to realize that they are in the same school. Lacey fears rejection, but Fuji is the only one who listens, laments, and comforts her in her time of need. Will her fear be overcome? Told first person from Lacey's point of view.
1. Five Years Then Now

_About five years ago, I had a best friend. He and I attended the same elementary school. I liked to steal his hat and put it on, giving him my own, wide-brimmed, girl's cap to wear. I liked being chased around by him until a teacher stopped us._

_ About four years ago, I moved to America. Out of all of my friends, I missed him the most. He was quiet when we said goodbye. He was always so quiet. I didn't want to cry. I was nine, already. We nine-year-olds didn't cry. _

_ About three years ago, I made new friends and settled in the little town my father had found work. It was easy to fit in. My mother told me not to let go of my Japanese even though I now spoke English fluently._

_ About two years ago, my sister was born. We named her Amami and called her Ami. She annoyed me much more than I had ever anticipated. But she was my sister. And I loved her. _

_ About a year ago, my father died. Mom, desperate, had decided to move us back to Japan into her sister's home until she got back onto her feet. After four years of trying not to miss him I had forgotten about Fuji entirely._

_Until now._


	2. I Can't Forget

"Seishun Academy," Mom was explaining as she busily spooned some baby sludge into Ami's open mouth, "is the closest private school from here. She held up the spoon and waved it around a little as she talked. "Plus, you walked past it every day on your way to the elementary school. You should have no directional issues." I looked at the brown flecks of squished meat protein flung all over the dining table. "Seishun Academy," Mom was explaining as she busily spooned some baby sludge into Ami's open mouth, "is the closest private school from here. She held up the spoon and waved it around a little as she talked. "Plus, you walked past it every day on your way to the elementary school. You should have no directional issues." I looked at the brown flecks of squished meat protein flung all over the dining table.

Auntie wiped it up with a wet-cloth. Even though it was messy and disgusting to look at, Ami loved the stuff. Even though she was two and could eat real food, she still preferred the baby food. It made sense to her in that little toddler way.

Auntie turned and grabbed a white box from the countertop. "I almost forgot. Lacy, here's your new uniform. Don't forget you start school tomorrow." I groaned. I had a nasty feeling about that box when Uncle had brought it in this morning. I was hoping it was a cake. I wanted a cake.

School here was so painful. I was probably behind from the class and I didn't have any friends. This would be so great. This would be so fun. (For all you geniuses out there, that was sarcasm. Context clues are the basis of sentence understanding.)

Instead of throwing it into the trash like I was tempted to do, I took the package and smiled, pretending to be grateful. Taking it upstairs, I peeled off the tape and opened the box. There was the girl's uniform with a receipt folded neatly into the collar. I sighed and touched the fabric. A welcome sheet that screamed with loud green letters towards the top, **SEISHUN ACADEMY: TOKYO, JAPAN.** That was the final reminder. The last reassurance.

I was back. I was home. So why did it feel so different? Lying down on my bed, I looked up at the little white squiggles on the ceiling. Squinting, I connected the lines and made my own little messed-up images. There was a little wide-brimmed hat, a deformed figure, a quiet friend. Fuji.

Realizing you miss someone is strange. It's a helpless feeling, like you just forgot something big, like a funeral, or a birth, or something sentimental. Something you feel obliged to go to. You have a link to this certain thing and feel downcast when you miss it. The thing was I felt _bad _for missing Fuji. He was of the past and probably didn't even recognize me anymore. My once short hair-cut had grown out to my armpit. My baby fat had faded off. I had grown taller.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't bear forget him. I couldn't forget his eyes, perpetually-closed but always grinning at me along with his smile. He was patient and level-headed. I never saw Fuji angry. Fuji was the opposite of me. I'm impulsive, talkative, and can't stay still for more than ten seconds at a time. My mom used to complain about how when I was a baby I was extremely fussy. Even in my sleep I'd keep fidgeting around, rolling around or kicking. I'm also extremely hot-headed. Though empathetic, I get annoyed really easily at little things. I need to be constantly reminded to chill down. Not like Fuji. I can't forget how clear his eyes were when I saw them, either when he was excited, upset, or focused. I can't forget how he made me feel like I didn't need any other friends; just him. I couldn't forget. I _can't _forget. I don't want to.

I rolled over, stuffing my face into the pillow. It had been so long. Fuji may have died, for all you know. He could've forgotten you. He could've _changed._ I flicked off the lights. School was tomorrow. I'd focus on my studies to bring my mind off of him. Sighing again, I knew that would be impossible.

It had been easy to not think about Fuji in America, what with the moving, the new school, new baby, new everything. Here, it brought back memories of every place we sat, ate, or shared an ice cream. It brought a pang to my chest. _Maybe he changed. _That was the worst thought yet.

If someone were to cut open my chest right now, they'd find my heart in the saddest state it's ever been.


	3. The Peppy One

The next morning, I picked up the uniform laying on the bed in front of me. I spent ten minutes staring down at the sea-foam green fabric with mixed feelings. It was made up of a white blouse with a turquoise cardigan tied into a giant pink bow. A dark green skirt and a pair of dark knee-highs finished the outfit. It was cute, comfy, and feminine. I absolutely hated it. The shirt looked too tight, the cardigan's collar big and frilly, the skirt reaching high above my knees. The socks were too warm and scratched against my legs.

It was deceptively cute. I sighed. I was not looking forward to private school. But I threw on the uniform with my sneakers. It didn't match, but at least I could run in them better than the stiff pair of flats my mother insisted I wear. I grabbed my bag and made breakfast by myself and ate. Everyone else was gone at work and Mom had taken Ami out.

I locked the door, tucking the key back into its place on the window-sill above the door. Eyeing my watch, I hustled to school just a block away. I had class 3-6. Mom explained to me that it meant I would be in the same class with the same people for the school year. I groaned. That would suck if they were total idiots or perverts.

I glanced at my schedule. My first class of the day was English. "You'd better ace that class," Mom had warned me. I had smiled. _Of course, Mother. It _is _my second language, you know._

A brick wall held a neat row of bike racks. The metal sign read: **Seishun Academy.** I sighed and eyed the many kids, all in little groups of two, three, and more. Not one. Never one. I tried not to wish Fuji was here to talk with me.

Sighing again, I walked towards the door and wondered how I would greet the class. I could go with "Shy Girl," saying nothing and talking quietly only when spoken to. I could also be more aggressive, staring at my classmates, daring them to try and mess with me. Or, I could be the "Peppy One," all smiles, eccentric, laughing and asking lots of happy questions, making lots of friends who really thought I _was _a "Peppy One."

The bell rang before I could come up with more.

I walked into the classroom, sitting far from the window and from the other students already in there, chatting, laughing, flirting, and giggling. I pulled out my books and watched my class-mates stream in. Girl, boy, boy, girl, girl, boy, girl, boy, boy, girl, teacher, boy, boy, girl...in the end, there were twelve girls, fourteen boys. At my side was a girl with short-cropped bubble-gum pink hair chatting with a red-headed boy in front of her. In front of me, a guy with light brown hair held his chin in his hand while watching the board.

I frowned. Wasn't this Japan? What happened to black hair like mine? I took a lock of my hair. It didn't match the tan of my skin or the glossy darkness of my eyes. Even though everyone else had strange genetic make-ups, I still felt incredibly out of place. For the second time, I wished Fuji were here beside me.

The bell rang again. English was the most boring subject. We learned about the parts of speech and I nearly fell asleep when we took turns reading "Rikki Tikki Tavi" at an incredibly slow pace. I tried not to get too impatient with the people who kept having to pause and sound out the names and various vocabulary words. I wanted to scream them out at their faces. But then again, it was a pretty advanced read. I guess. It _was _in a completely different language.

When it was my turn, the professor told me to go at a pace comfortable to my skills. I tried to be patient with him. He didn't know I read this story a thousand times before. Not wanting to seem like a show-off, I spoke moderately slow, but still much faster than the other boy who kept tripping over his words. I didn't try to pretend not to know some of the words, but I spoke quietly. But just loud enough so the teacher wouldn't be able to say I was mumbling. I cleared my throat.

"_Then the grass by the mouth of the hole stopped waving, and Darzee said: 'It is all over with Rikki-tikki! We must sing his death song. Valiant Rikki-tikki is dead! For Nagaina will surely kill him underground.'_

_So he sang a very mournful song that he made up on the spur of the minute, and just as he got to the most touching part, the grass quivered again, and Rikki-tikki, covered with dirt, dragged himself out of the hole leg by leg, licking his whiskers. Darzee stopped with a little shout. Rikki-tikki shook some of the dust out of his fur and sneezed. 'It is all over,' he said. 'The widow will never come out again.' And the red ants that live between the grass stems heard him, and began to troop down one after another to see if he had spoken the truth."_

I loved this story. Rudyard Kipling painted a lovely plot about finding a family and saving them all in a time of crisis. I still remembered the old book-report I had done on it in sixth grade. My theme had been, "No matter what the danger, heroes will go great lengths to protect those they love." I smiled, then realized class was silent, staring at me. I blinked then realized that I had spoken evenly, fluently, and perfectly. No wonder they were staring. I was a mushroom in a bowl of cherries.

Only the guy in front of me didn't turn his head. Instead, he cleared his own throat and began to read. One by one, they turned away and I sagged in relief. It was my first day; no, first _period _and I was already attracting unwanted attention. I turned curiously at the boy who saved my embarrassment. The guy read nicely, with a weird style of punctuating his vowels and tilting the final syllable of the word down in pitch, even when it was a question. Otherwise, he read smoothly without errors. I smiled and skimmed along with the rest of the class.

Math was nothing to report; just a few equations and number problems scribbled on the board and a couple of examples were our basic lesson plan. I yawned. It was much easier than I had expected. Too easy. Well, to their credit, my mother _had_ hired a tutor in nervousness that I would fall behind.

Next, there was biology, my favorite class. For some strange reason, learning about 'gross' and 'disturbing' stuff really catches my interest. The essay on parasites last year had pleased me immensely when my science teacher had called it "severely disturbing, yet informative."

Then was the equivalent of language arts and social studies. A lot of stuff was unfamiliar vocabulary. I also had a literature class where we discussed classics around the world including To Kill a Mockingbird and Shakespeare's Hamlet. Of course, all of the discussion was in Japanese, but I still smiled at the familiarity. It brought me back to eighth grade when we did plots and summaries and themes and expositions and everything else.

Lunch was free. You could go anywhere on the campus and I took the opportunity to explore. There were a bunch of students at the cafeteria line. Benches and tables were set up around the courtyard and inside. I turned away and went the opposite direction. Clutching my lunchbox, I poked around a little bit and climbed a few sets of stairs. It was my first day. Not like I could get in trouble, right?

Opening the door at the top of a small flight of stairs, a gust of wind blew the ribbon tied to my blazer. I stepped outside into the bright sunshine. I had found the roof. There was just a section of tile with a guardrail lining the edges so students wouldn't, well, fall and die. The door I had just entered from was built into a taller step. I climbed the ladder built into the wall up a level and sat among the water-sealed crates of supplies. The metal under my feet was rusted and creaked when I walked on it.

I sat, swinging my legs over the door and ate my sandwich I had packed for today. It was a nice view. Below, girls in their green outfits and boys in their black pants and blazers chatted and ate lunches in the grass. A sparkling pond was to my right, ringed with trees. Some people went over there to eat, too. I sighed, wishing someone were here to keep me company, at least for a while.

Suddenly, the door opened with a heavy creak. I swung my legs up and slowly crawled behind two crates. I peered over the edge at the newcomers. There was a boy, a first-year most likely, with messy hair. He sat next to the other boy, probably a second-year, with spiky black hair and violet eyes. I wondered what I should do. Could I wait until they left? _But I'd be listening to their conversation, which would be rude. _ Should I announce myself now before it was too late? _They'd think I was crazy sitting up here by myself. _

I was still pondering what to do when another boy joined them. It was the guy who sat in front of me. A sheet of his light brown hair covered his neck. The second-year waved, food stuffed into his mouth. He scooted his tray. "Come, sit down, Fuji-senpai." I blinked in surprise and...and...something else. _Fuji_.


End file.
